


a taste of home

by Spikedluv



Series: Dec 2018 Gift Fic [8]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Food as a Metaphor for Love, From Pre-Captain America: The First Avenger, Gen, Gift Fic, M/M, Not Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Compliant, Post-Winter Soldier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-21
Updated: 2019-10-21
Packaged: 2020-12-27 18:20:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21123188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spikedluv/pseuds/Spikedluv
Summary: Steve wanders into a diner one night when he can’t sleep and experiences a taste of home.





	a taste of home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dreamerfound](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamerfound/gifts).

> This is another of my December Gift Fic. Yes, from last December! It was written for Fadedwings for the prompt: _MCU, Steve/Bucky, in the kitchen_. I hope you like what I (finally) did with it. *g*
> 
> Written: October 21, 2019

Steve stared out the window at the sidewalk outside the diner – lit by overhead streetlights and hidden in shadow – his hands wrapped around a mug of coffee that had long-since gone cool. He’d come back to Brooklyn after everything that had happened in D.C. and a fruitless six months taking down HYDRA bases and safe houses in the search for Bucky.

Everything was different now. The skyline, the sounds. But it was still the place Steve thought of as home. Even if he was sitting in a diner at two am because he couldn’t sleep. The diner hadn’t been around in the 40s, though it had been decorated to resemble an old-timey diner, probably from the 50s or 60s if Steve’s research had been accurate.

The waitress who’d been painting her nails at the counter out of boredom (there was only one other person in the diner and he appeared to be homeless so Steve had bought him a cup of coffee when he’d ordered his own) appeared at Steve’s elbow. She set a fresh mug of coffee and a plate with a piece of apple pie on it in front of Steve. She whisked away the cold coffee when Steve leaned back in surprise.

“I didn’t order this,” Steve said in confusion.

“Someone ordered it for you,” the waitress said without inflection.

Steve narrowed his eyes. “Was it Natasha?”

“I don’t know any Natasha. Let me know how you like it. Baker’s trying out a new recipe.”

Steve watched the waitress walk away, then looked at the pie. He glanced at the homeless man, but his head was tipped back and his mouth open, issuing a soft snore. Steve picked up the fork. He laughed at himself for being suspicious of pie. It wasn’t as if anyone knew that Steve wouldn’t be able to sleep and would end up in this diner and had managed to poison the pie.

Steve cut the fork through the pie and placed the bite on his tongue. It had been warmed. Steve closed his eyes and let the flavor melt into his senses as he chewed. Apple pie always made him think of his ma, but of all the pies he’d tried since he came out of the ice, this one tasted the most like hers had.

~*~

Two nights later when Steve found himself wide awake in the middle of the night (morning) he returned to the diner. And then the next night and three nights after that. At first it was merely because it was the closest 24-hour diner to his apartment. (Condo, he reminded himself.) It was less about the familiarity of the waitress, whose name Steve discovered was Clarice (“And if you quote that movie I’m gonna put vinegar in your coffee.” – they’d become fast friends when Steve had said, “What movie?) and the homeless man who showed up on the coldest nights and more because the desserts reminded Steve of the 30s and 40s when nothing else these days did.

On his second visit Steve was given a bowl of bread pudding that was full of raisins and the perfect amount of nutmeg. Steve told Clarice to thank his benefactor and left a hefty tip since she wouldn’t charge him for it. Steve started to come in on nights he could’ve easily fallen asleep. He’d bring a book or his sketch pad and spend a couple hours with two people who merely nodded to acknowledge his presence and then let him be.

On these nights Steve enjoyed what he came to think of as a taste of home – chocolate wacky cake topped with whipped cream, a berry ice box cake, oatmeal raisin cookies, and an apple crumb cake. Steve didn’t know the person who did the baking for the diner’s touted ‘homemade’ dessert case, so there was no reason to feel like the desserts were being made just for him, but he did anyway.

~*~

Steve missed a week because of a mission. Clarice gave him a look when he entered the diner that Steve couldn’t quite decipher. She poured him a cup of coffee, then returned with a tray loaded with five different plates of dessert. “He’s been stress baking,” Clarice said, leave Steve staring at the variety of options.

Steve started with a piece of cake that he identified as milk cake when he took the first bite. Then the bowl of rice pudding, the chocolate cream pie, the apple walnut cake with orange glaze and, lastly, the piece of shoo fly pie.

Clarice refilled Steve’s mug twice. “I can’t believe you ate all that,” she said when she cleared away the last plate.

“I have a high metabolism,” Steve said.

Clarice gave Steve a look, but merely said, “I’m supposed to ask which you liked best.”

“Oh.” Steve was taken aback. “I liked them all? But if you had another piece of the apple walnut cake back there I wouldn’t say no.”

Clarice gave Steve a long look and her lips curved into a small smile.

“What?”

“You t–, you’re the most interesting thing to happen to me in, sadly, years.”

Steve absently sipped at the reheated coffee as he watched Clarice go behind the counter and into the kitchen. He could only stare when she returned with a plate of cake and the entire remainder of the cake wrapped to go. “What’s this?”

“Sadness,” Clarice said, shaking her head. “And pining. And happiness in a cake, apparently.”

Steve was even more confused now, but he ate the cake. He took the wrapped cake with him and left an even larger tip because their baker had gone above and beyond this time. Steve told Clarice to give his regards to the baker (saving her “Sure” to ponder later) and waved at the homeless man, who Steve now knew was a veteran named Henry.

~*~

Steve showed up at the diner earlier than usual. There was a thump behind the counter and the door to the kitchen opened even though Steve couldn’t see anyone. He considered taking a step forward to see what was going on, but Clarice stepped in front of him.

“You’re early,” Clarice said, sounding accusatory.

“Sorry?” Steve said.

Clarice shrugged. “It’s fine. I was just curious why.” She gestured Steve towards his usual table and followed him with a mug and the pot of coffee. She stood at Steve’s table after she poured the coffee, until Steve realized she was actually waiting for a response.

“Oh. Uh. The first time I came in it was because I couldn’t sleep. I went out for a walk and ended up here. After that, well, sometimes I couldn’t sleep, but other times I just liked it here. I realized I didn’t need to stay awake until two am, or worse, set my alarm, just to come in. That I could come in earlier. Unless that’s a problem.”

“Of course not,” Clarice said. “Though I’m not sure if tonight’s dessert has been baked yet.”

Steve’s gaze went to the full dessert case.

“Tonight’s _special_ dessert,” Clarice clarified. “Unless you can’t wait.”

Steve shook his head. “I mean no, yes, I can wait.”

Clarice shook her head as she turned away and muttered something under her breath low enough that even Steve couldn’t make it out.

Steve took out the battered paperback he’d traded for at a neighborhood book swap and settled in to wait for his special dessert. Steve went warm, warmer than usual, at the thought that someone really was making the desserts just for him. Steve was used to people wanting something from him – his time, his strength, his autograph, his support, his image – that it was nice to be given something without expecting anything in return.

A moment later Clarice’s return interrupted Steve’s reading. She set down a plate containing a burger with everything and a pile of fries, as well as a strawberry milkshake in a frosted glass. “To tide you over.”

Steve opened his mouth to speak, but Clarice forestalled him. “And don’t even tell me you can’t eat all that and still have room for dessert. I’ve seen you put it away.”

Steve carefully set the book down. “I was going to say ‘thank you’.”

“Uh huh. You’re welcome. And I’ll pass your thanks along to our cook.”

“Okay?” Steve had the sense that Clarice was trying to tell him something, but for the life of him he couldn’t figure out what.

Steve ate the food and had two pieces of banana cake.

When Clarice brought him the rest of the cake to-go, Steve was prepared. He asked for three plates and cut three large slices, one each for Clarice, Henry, and his mysterious benefactor. Steve left the diner that night (early morning) with a large slice of cake and an even larger smile.

~*~

Steve brought Henry a pair of gloves on his next visit. He implied that he’d gotten them at the VA’s used clothing drop by mentioning Sam, but Steve was almost certain that Henry knew he’d bought them specifically for Henry.

“Who throws away a pair of gloves that don’t even look used?”

Steve shrugged. “Maybe they were moving to Florida.”

There was a loud snort from the kitchen. It struck a memory and Steve jerked his head around as Clarice exited the kitchen.

“Refill, Henry?”

“I wouldn’t say no,” Henry said.

“Have a seat,” Clarice told Steve as she passed him. “I’ll be right over with your coffee.”

“Thank you,” Steve said politely and headed to his usual table by rote.

Clarice poured the coffee and left Steve alone with his thoughts. There was something, but it was just at the edge of his consciousness.

Clarice set a plate of pie in front of Steve and gave him a curious look. She waited for Steve to take his first bite. Tears burned the back of Steve’s eyes at the memories that washed over him as the flavors filled his mouth.

“Where did he find green tomatoes this time of the year?”

Clarice shrugged. “The lord works in mysterious ways. Do you like it?”

“Yes! Yes, it’s delicious.”

Steve said her name when Clarice turned to walk away. “Who’s baking these desserts?”

Clarice gave Steve a look both sad and encouraging. “I think you know.”

Steve shook his head. It couldn’t be who he thought it was. He’d just spent six months searching for Bucky, and he’d been here in Brooklyn the whole time. Steve ducked his head. He wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. The apple pie had tasted like his ma’s because it had been her recipe. Only one person other than Steve would be familiar with these recipes.

Clarice squeezed Steve’s shoulder and headed back to the counter where a book of crossword puzzles waited for her. She didn’t get far when the door was shoved open with a clang of the bell and a bang when the door reached it’s limit. Clarice paused as three young men entered. They were loud and boisterous, which wasn’t unusual if they’d come from a bar.

“Hey, sweetheart,” one of the men said. “We need some coffee and pie.”

“And you,” one of the other two muttered, making all three laugh.

Steve opened his mouth to say something about their rude behavior, but Clarice gave him a look and he reluctantly subsided.

“Have a seat, gentlemen,” Clarice said in an overly perky tone many wait staff perfected. “I’ll be right over with your coffee.”

The three men slid into a booth. Clarice carried over three mugs and filled them at the table. She didn’t falter pouring even when she said, “It would be a shame if I accidentally spilled this coffee in your lap.”

“Just being friendly,” the guy facing Steve said.

Clarice spilled some coffee on the table and the guy’s hand jerked back. Steve saw red when he realized where that hand must’ve been. Steve looked beyond their booth to Henry, who was watching the proceedings warily.

Clarice stepped back (and out of reach) and recited the list of the variety of pie in the case while the guy who’d just inappropriately touched her wiped up the spilled coffee with a sour look on his face. They ordered and Clarice returned to the counter with a spring in her step. Steve had to give her credit for defusing the situation, but it angered him that she had to deal with that sort of thing in the first place.

Steve’s pie and coffee remained forgotten as he kept an eye on the three men. Clarice came by to refresh Steve’s coffee, but he hadn’t drank enough for her to add more than a few drops of hot.

“Don’t worry about them,” Clarice said. “I”ve dealt with worse.”

If that was supposed to make Steve feel better it missed the mark by a mile. Steve returned his gaze to the men and wondered that they didn’t burst into flame with the force of it.

Clarice placed the slip on the table and said her usual, “Whenever you’re ready.”

Steve was watching when the men exchanged looks. Something about it made him sit up straighter. All three men slid out of the booth. One carried the slip up to the register while the other two fanned out a bit. Steve didn’t know what, but something was up. He picked up his fork and adjusted his grip on it without taking his gaze off the tableau unfolding in front of him.

“Thank you for the pie,” the man at the register said.

The man closest to Steve was smirking, which only added to Steve’s feeling of unease.

“Now, how about you empty the register.”

Steve realized that the object the man had pulled from his pocket was not his wallet as Steve had presumed, but a gun, and he was pointing it at Clarice.

“I can’t do that,” Clarice said calmly. “They’d fire me.”

“You can’t find another job if you’re dead,” the man said reasonably.

Steve glanced at Henry to see how he was dealing with the impending violence. He gave Steve an angry look and Steve nodded.

Before Steve could act, the kitchen door banged open and someone threw something. The something turned out to be a cast iron skillet, and the guy at the counter went down like a rock. Steve gaped as Bucky leapt the counter and landed beside the gunman. He kicked the gun away and used his left arm to deflect a knife thrown at him.

Steve slammed back into his body and jumped into action. He threw the fork at the man nearest him, then followed that with the plate, silently lamenting the uneaten slice of pie as he wielded it like a miniature shield.

Across the diner Henry tossed what was left of his coffee into the third guy’s face, then hit him over the head with the empty mug. The guy staggered, but didn’t go down. Henry kicked the back of the guy’s knee and he hit his head on the table on his way to the floor.

Steve had rolled his guy onto his front and pulled his arms behind his back only to realize he didn’t have anything to restrain him with because he wasn’t wearing his suit. “Shit.” He raised his gaze to Clarice. “Is there anything in the back we can use to tie these guys up?”

While he waited Steve glanced at Henry, who was just standing there, staring at the man with the bleeding head wound. “Hey, Henry,” Steve called gently. “You okay? He’ll be fine,” Steve said without knowing whether it was true or not. “Head wounds bleed a lot.”

Bucky dropped a zip tie in Steve’s lap. “Here.”

Steve picked up the zip tie. “You just carry these around with you?”

“You don’t?”

“I’m just . . . going to call the police,” Clarice said.

Steve gave her a reassuring look. “Okay.” He zipped the tie and watched Bucky do the same to the third guy. Bucky stood and spoke softly to Henry, who nodded and let Bucky move him back to his usual seat. Steve looked away, pretending he needed to make sure Bucky’s secured the guy he’d knocked out with the skillet.

Clarice stepped out from behind the counter, wiping her hands on the front of her apron. “I called the police.”

Steve rose and went to her side. “Are you alright?”

Clarice nodded. She was clearly shaken, but was doing her best to push her way through it. Clarice gestured towards Bucky and Henry. “We need to get him out of here.”

“Yes,” Steve said. His shoulders went back. He’d been so thrown at seeing Bucky that he wasn’t thinking straight. He helped Clarice sit on a stool and made sure she was steady before he walked over to Bucky and Henry.

Steve clenched his hands into fists so he didn’t reach out to touch, not wanting Bucky to flinch away. “How are you doing, Henry?” Steve glanced at Bucky in question.

“Fine,” Henry said gruffly. “Just don’t like the sight of blood anymore.”

“I know what you mean,” Bucky said.

Steve wanted to cry a little bit, but Henry looked thankful. “You, too?” Henry glanced at Bucky’s metal hand.

“Me too,” Bucky said.

“Bucky,” Steve said, everything in him fighting against what he had to do. “You need to leave.”

Bucky gave Steve a look.

“Clarice called the police to come pick up these guys.”

“Right.”

Bucky pulled away so quickly it startled Steve and he reflexively reached out to grab for him, only stopping himself at the last second. “Just . . . don’t go too far.”

“I won’t. Punk.”

“Yeah, well, you’re a jerk.” Steve looked away from Bucky and saw the shattered plate on the floor. He let out a sound.

“I’ll stick around,” Bucky said earnestly.

“No, yeah, I mean, I want that, but . . .” Steve threw his hand out. “I threw my pie at that guy.”

“Always thinking with your stomach.” Bucky shook his head. “There’s more in the back.”

Steve smiled. “Thank you, Buck.” He didn’t mean just for the pie.

“Yeah, well . . .”

The y all froze at the sound of sirens. Bucky tossed off a salute, paused to check on Clarice, and disappeared into the kitchen. Steve stared after him.

Clarice heaved a sigh. “I don’t know if that was the most romantic thing I’ve ever seen, or the most pathetic.”

Steve opened his mouth to defend himself, or Bucky, but Clarice waved off his response.

“I need coffee. Henry, you want another cup of coffee?”

“I want a drink,” Henry said, “but I’ll take coffee.”

Clarice got out three mugs and carried them and the coffee pot over to Henry’s booth. She slid onto the seat next to Henry and left the other side for Steve. He’d barely gotten seated when two police officers entered with guns drawn. The officers, a black male and a Latino female, took in the scene and approached their booth.

“Hello, officers,” Steve said.

The female officer, M. Hernandez according to her name tag, holstered her gun first. “Dispatch said Captain America was on-scene, but I didn’t believe ‘em.”

“What’s going on here?” Officer D. Nelson said as he surveyed the table.

“Just calming our nerves,” Steve said affably.

Nelson holstered his gun. “I didn’t think Captain America would have a case of nerves.”

“Captain America goes on missions and expects people to have guns and knives and exploding robots. Steve Rogers was enjoying a cup of coffee and a piece of pie and worried about civilians. People he’d grown to care about.”

“Aww,” Clarice said, breaking the moment. “Never shared any of your pie, though, did you?”

“What? I did to!”

Clarice smirked at Steve, then turned to the officers. “Can we give our statements so you can get rid of those jackasses and I can clean up this mess?”

They gave their statements and Steve helped Clarice clean up. He was tempted to stay and make sure no one came back to give Clarice a hard time, but Clarice dissuaded him of that.

“I’ll be fine. This is the first time anyone’s tried to rob us, and they had the bad luck to do it when Steve Rogers and his boyfriend were on the premises. He’ll be back, too.

Clarice wrapped the remainder of the pie for Steve to take, but his previous enjoyment of it (and the knowledge that it had been Bucky all along) was tempered by the concern that he might not see Bucky again after that close call.

~*~

Steve joined Pepper on a three-day whirlwind Avengers PR jaunt. It was a goodwill tour that Steve would’ve resented if he hadn’t been visiting VAs and children’s hospitals. Even so, the smiles that graced the sickest child’s face couldn’t completely erase Steve’s worry that he might not see Bucky again.

When Steve finally walked into the diner four nights later it felt like stepping back in time. Clarice was seated at the counter resting her feet and playing suduko and Henry was in his usual booth. Steve couldn’t help glancing towards the kitchen doors.

Clarice smiled and nodded. “‘Bout time,” she said, closing the book around the pencil and sliding off the stool. “Sit. I’ll bring you coffee.”

Steve wanted to rush the kitchen, but he forced himself to greet Henry politely before heading to his usual table. He thanked Clarice for the coffee and took a perfunctory sip. He started at the kitchen doors and tapped his fingers on the table.

“Order’s up!” came Bucky’s voice.

Steve jerked his head to the pass through that Bucky had so carefully avoided when Steve had been there before.

Clarice turned the puzzle book upside down and shoved the pencil in her ponytail. She brought the plate – loaded with meatloaf, mashed potatoes and green beans – and a large glass of milk to the table and set them in front of Steve. “Enjoy.”

“Thanks,” Steve said absently as he stared at the mound of food.

That small glimpse of Bucky had been a relief, but it made Steve want to see even more of him. The meatloaf, however, smelled really good and Steve didn’t like waste. He picked up the fork and was wiping the plate clean before he knew it.

“I figured you hadn’t been eating much these past few days.”

“Buck,” Steve breathed.

“You practically inhaled that,” Bucky said, ignoring Steve’s breathlessness. “You want a second helping?”

“I thought that was seconds.”

“Thirds, then.” Bucky gave Steve a look, like he’d pay later for being a wise ass.

“No, thank you,” Steve said politely. “I’m saving room for dessert.”

Bucky snorted. “I’ll just go get that, then.”

Steve reached out, but didn’t quite touch. “Buck!”

Bucky looked at the hand hovering above his arm, then looked at Steve.

“Would you, um, would you have a piece of whatever you made with me?”

Bucky didn’t say anything, but the look he gave Steve before he turned away made Steve hopeful. He smiled down at his empty plate until Clarice pulled it away.

“You two always been like this?”

“Like what?”

“Saps who don’t talk about their feelings.”

Steve’s cheeks heated. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“That’s a yes, then.”

Clarice walked away with the empty plate and glass and returned to warm up Steve’s coffee. A few sips later Bucky emerged from the kitchen with a tray holding four slices of cake. He placed one before Henry, dropped one on the counter for Clarice (and flipped her the finger at whatever she said), and brought the other two to Steve’s table.

Steve sat up straight and didn’t dare to breathe until Bucky had returned the tray and sat across from Steve with his own mug of coffee (courtesy of Clarice, who’d also reheated Steve’s before retaking her seat at the counter).

“Hey,” Steve said.

“Hey,” Bucky said back, only the way the fingers of his right hand drummed on the table before he gripped the fork giving away his nerves. “Aren’t you gonna try it?”

Steve quickly picked up the fork that lay across the dessert plate. “Of course I am! What is it?” Steve said even as he cut a piece and brought it to his mouth.

“You tell me,” Bucky said as Steve moaned around a mouthful. Bucky’s eyes went wide and he shoved a forkful of cake into his mouth.

“Carrot cake,” Steve said. “It’s really good, Buck.”

“Thanks,” Bucky said, hiding his pleased smile with another bite of cake.

~*~

Bucky continued to make Steve full meals and join him for dessert. The following night was lemon meringue pie and then a white chocolate raspberry cheesecake. Steve just stared at Bucky before taking a bite because that was something he hadn’t yet heard of. When he took his first taste Steve silently thanked whoever had come up with the combination because it tasted heavenly.

“This is really good, Buck,” Steve said. “Everything you’ve made has been amazing. You’re . . . really good at this.”

Bucky shrugged, but Steve could tell he was pleased by the compliment. “What, like it’s hard?”

At Steve’s confused look, Bucky said, “It’s from a movie.”

Steve immediately pulled out his notebook and wrote down the quote. He’d Google it later.

“What’s that?”

“Oh, uh, a list of things people have suggested I check out.”

Bucky held out his hand. “May I?”

Steve didn’t hesitate to place the notebook in Bucky’s outstretched hand. He watched as Bucky opened the notebook to the first page and read every item on the list until he reached the one Steve had just written down. Bucky took the pencil from Steve’s fingers and jotted down something before handing the notebook back to Steve.

Steve glanced at the notebook. Bucky’s handwritting was different, more jagged and pointed, but Steve was able to read ‘Legally Blonde’. He gave Bucky a questioning look.

“That’s the name of the movie.”

“Oh. Okay. Thanks.”

Bucky’s head jerked in a nod. “There’re a lot of things on that list.”

“Yeah,” Steve said. “I get suggestions faster than I can keep up with them. I might get through it quicker if I had someone to do some of them with,” Steve said before he could talk himself out of it.

Bucky was quiet for an agonizing second, then said, “Is that right?”

Steve let out the breath he’d been holding and nodded.

“Like what? For instance,” Bucky said as if he didn’t care.

“I still haven’t tried Thai food yet,” Steve said. “And maybe watch that movie. I’ve got Netflix,” he added, “and I’m getting pretty good at it.”

“Netflix and chill?” Bucky said, then looked horrified.

Steve flipped to the end of the list, but Bucky swiped the pencil from Steve’s fingers. “Don’t write that down.”

Steve dropped the notebook and pulled out his phone.

“No, Steve . . .”

“Netflix and chill,” Steve said into the microphone.

Bucky lunged across the table, grabbing for the phone. Laughing, Steve fought him off with one hand while he read the first result, the Wikipedia definition of the phrase. Steve was so startled he let Bucky get past him and snatch the phone out of his hand.

“Bucky,” Steve said, heat rising in his cheeks.

“I was joking,” Bucky said. “I know you wouldn’t want that with me . . .”

Steve felt the ‘now’ hanging heavy in the air between them. “I think you’d find that you’re wrong about that.”

Bucky’s gaze shot to Steve’s face.

“But I don’t put out on a first date.”

Bucky snorted. “‘S not how I remember it.”

“Yeah, well, I’m trying to turn over a new leaf. Not be so impulsive.”

Bucky’s eyes boggled. “You literally jumped in front of a runaway bus the other day.”

“I had back up.”

“You had no idea Hulk was gonna show up when he did!”

“Okay,” Steve said, “I’m going to stop being so impulsive. Right now.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “You’re such a punk.”

“Jerk,” Steve said fondly.

The bell above the door tinkled and Steve glanced up to take stock, but it was two young women holding hands, not the three attempted robbers from the other night.

“I gotta get back to work.”

“Yeah, okay.” Steve couldn’t help feeling disappointed at the loss of Bucky’s company, and the fact that he never got an answer.

“Oh,” Bucky said. “The answer’s yes, of course.”

A grin split Steve’s face. “Okay. Great.”

Clarice came by to give Steve a reheat on the coffee after serving the new table. She rolled her eyes. “‘Bout time.”

Steve tried to make his face do something other than grin, but it was impossible. He pulled out the book he’d brought with him and settled in to read. Maybe he’d stick around ‘til breakfast. And maybe Bucky would want to watch that movie today after he got off shift.

Steve stared out the window with a smile on his face, the book forgotten.

The End


End file.
